


We are All That is Left

by mirandamyth



Series: Insurance 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, Insurance 'verse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Not Slash, Parental Bobby Singer, friendship fic, nothing remotely Supernatural happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:56:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirandamyth/pseuds/mirandamyth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Winchester met Bobby Singer in grief counseling (which is to say, at the Roadhouse; each of them drinking away their loss). It was merely a lucky coincidence that they had common interests; cars, shotguns, and Johnny Walker Blue. They migrated from Fridays at the bar to hunting trips, taking solace in the gruff sort of unspoken understanding they had.</p><p>They might have remained like that, hunting partners and drinking buddies, if John hadn't shown up one morning with Sam and Dean in tow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We are All That is Left

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a much larger work, a prologue of sorts. But it can completely be read on its own. (:

There was something wrong with the wiring in the nursery. John Winchester managed to save his sons. Mary Winchester died. There was a spread in the Lawrence paper, John being restrained by firefighters and police, Dean holding six month old Sam, grief and horror etched into their features. They called John 'heroic' for getting his boys out alive, the whole story was dubbed a 'tragedy.' The papers moved on. John never could.  

    The doctors said that the accident had caused dementia. They said there was something wrong in her brain, and that was why she would wake up clueless and occasionally violent, convinced Bobby had stolen her away from her family in the night. Other days, she seemed herself, and told him that she loved him, and knew it was difficult, but he shouldn't blame himself for sliding on the black ice. Bobby came in one day to find Karen twitching on the floor, her brain committing its final act of betrayal. The aneurism killed her.

    John Winchester met Bobby Singer in grief counseling (which is to say, at the Roadhouse; each of them drinking away their loss). It was merely a lucky coincidence that they had common interests; cars, shotguns, and Johnny Walker Blue. They migrated from Fridays at the bar to hunting trips, taking solace in the gruff sort of unspoken understanding they had. They weren't the sort of men to talk about it. Instead, they talked about John's sons and Bobby's salvage yard.

    They might have remained like that, hunting partners and drinking buddies, if John hadn't shown up one morning with Sam and Dean in tow.

    "Listen, Bobby," he started, "their babysitter cancelled, and I need to work this shift. Can you just, I dunno, let them stay here for a few hours? Dean can take care of himself, and he knows when to put Sammy down for a nap. And, Jesus, I just didn't know who else to go to."

    Bobby looked at him for a long minute, then at the boys sitting on the porch steps. "Yeah, John, I got 'em."

    Relief broke on John's face, he went to collect his boys.

    "Dean," he said "keep your brother out of trouble and stay out of Bobby's hair. I'll be back after work. Understand?"

    "Yes, sir." 

* * *

 

"Just this once" became sporadically, became a few times a month, became teaching Dean to shoot and Sammy to defend himself. Eventually John stopped paying for a babysitter. The boys were happy to spend time at Bobby's, and, though he might not say it aloud, Bobby was glad to have them. He drank less when they were around, laughed more. The same could not be said for John.

So that's where it all started, really. If you think about it. Because who knows what would have happened to those boys without Bobby Singer?

 


End file.
